


diamonds in your eyes

by Resamille



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: "Let me take care of you" trope but overused, (rip Oiks i'm sorry bby), 5+1 Fic, A very mild dose of angst, Childhood Friends, Coming Out, Crying, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Injury, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Pining Oikawa Tooru, That's it, feat. Daichi as Iwa's only ho tbh, hqbb2018, they're just dorks in love tbh, this entire thing is just a giant heap of gay, you came for plot? nope.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 20:06:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16919532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Resamille/pseuds/Resamille
Summary: Five times Oikawa Tooru is an enormous crybaby and one time he isn't (but Iwaizumi is).





	diamonds in your eyes

**Author's Note:**

> I was honored to work with [Jed](http://itsmyfridge.tumblr.com/) for the HQBB this year!! Check out their art blog over here: https://solasoir.tumblr.com/ uwu thank you for dealin' with me and my shenanigans friend
> 
> also thanks to yui for basically giving me the premise for this fic in the first place. here's your iwaoi.
> 
> also also thanks to logic for letting me complain about writing proposals/marriages b/c gotdan that was rough and also google please stop giving me wedding dress ads i'm so tired

**1\. the childhood friends one**

Iwaizumi finds out that Oikawa is a gross ugly crier when they're seven.

See, Iwaizumi? Iwaizumi loves insects. He likes scaley things and crawly things and all sorts of weird little creatures. Oikawa's managed to get over his fear of lizards and snakes over the course of his friendship with Iwaizumi and after a couple of chances at petting a ball python (they're soft!), but he's still not big on bugs.

There are some he tolerates. Tarantulas are big and fuzzy-looking enough that they aren't so bad, even if they have too many eyes and too many legs. Spiders as a whole are on thin ice, though. Dragonflies are pretty cool—they kinda remind Oikawa of hummingbirds—and bees are scary when they buzz past your ear but ultimately cooler than they are unpleasant. Butterflies are safe in most cases.

But beetles.

Ugh.

Oikawa doesn't trust beetles. They have pokey legs and their shells are weird feeling and unnatural, hard but fragile under fingertips.

It's summer—warm air sticking Oikawa's hair to the back of his neck—and that means there's too many beetles for Oikawa to usually even _consider_ going outside for extended periods of time. Iwaizumi says that the June bugs are harmless, but Oikawa has no intentions of testing that theory.

But... It's summer, and there's no school, but Iwaizumi's dad finally got that volleyball net set up in the backyard, and Oikawa's fingers itch to toss to Iwa-chan. So that's how Oikawa finds himself wiping sweat from his forehead and guzzling water from an old bottle with a spaceship sticker plastered too it, faded from condensation and a couple of runs through the dishwasher.

Iwaizumi is next to him, leaning his palms on his knees while he catches his breath. There's grass bits stuck to the side of Iwaizumi's pants, where he tried to spike an off toss from Oikawa and landed on his hip on the ground. He seems fine now, though, even if he'll probably have a bruise later.

“What?” Iwaizumi grits out. He stretches up straight, and then snatches his water bottle from the porch railing and starts chugging.

Half of it dribbles down his shirt, and Oikawa would maybe be more grossed out if he wasn't just a little jealous at the fact dousing himself in cool water sounds _great_ right about now. If they went and sprayed each other with the hose, could they still play volleyball normally? Or would the water make things too slippery? Iwaizumi's already fallen once.

Oikawa feels his lips curl into a scowl. There's a faint _tap tap_ as a couple of dumb June bugs hit the windows of Iwaizumi's house.

“Stop that,” Iwaizumi huffs at him, swatting aimlessly at Oikawa's arm. “Stop thinking. Let's just play.”

Oikawa nods, sets his bottle down next to Iwa-chan's, and follows him back to their makeshift court. Oikawa throws the ball up into the air and then lets it fall back into his hands where he bounces it against his fingers to Iwaizumi. They've both watched enough plays to know that faster tosses are _possible_ , but they can't seem to get the timing right, so Oikawa throws high to give Iwa-chan plenty of time to jump.

It's still a little off, but Iwaizumi's hand comes down hard on the ball, and it hits the ground with satisfying strength. Even if it does bounce weirdly on the uneven grass instead of the floor of a real court. It's the best they can get for right now.

They continue on like that, Oikawa tossing high until eventually the timing gets better and better, and Iwaizumi's hits get stronger when they connect more solidly against his palm. Oikawa knows they're too young right now to really have any hope of playing in elementary, but maybe if they keep this up, they'll be pros by middle school. He and Iwa-chan are going to be the best partners ever.

And everything goes well, right up until the point the ball hits a rock or something burrowed in the grass and shoots off oddly into the sky, only to land in the crook of branches of a nearby tree.

“Look what you did,” Oikawa huffs at Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi turns to him, incredulous. “ _You_ threw it!”

“ _You_ spiked it!” Oikawa fires back. He makes a face and pinches his shirt to peel it away from his sweaty skin. “Go get it.”

“I've been running after it _and_ jumping to spike,” Iwaizumi protests. “You get it. Besides, it's my ball.”

Oikawa juts his chin out defiantly, even though Iwa-chan can't see it because he's turned away to head for his water bottle. Huffing, Oikawa stalks over to the tree. Iwaizumi is right, anyway, but that doesn't mean Oikawa has to like it.

He shuffles his foot around in the grass first, looking for a rock. Instead he finds a stick. Tosses that at the volleyball to see if he can dislodge it.

Iwaizumi snorts a laugh at him from the porch when Oikawa fails miserably. Oh, now he _has_ to get it. Has to prove to Iwa-chan he can.

Oikawa glares over his shoulder at Iwaizumi before he jumps up, fingers catching on the lowest branch of the tree. Oikawa kicks at the trunk and starts swinging until he has enough momentum to hook a leg over the branch he's clinging to.

The bark is scratchy as Oikawa wriggles himself into an upright position, using the tree trunk and another smaller branch to brace himself. Oikawa struggles up until he's perched, crouched, in the crook between the branch and the tree trunk. If he stands upright, he can probably reach the ball and push it free.

“Be careful, Dumbass,” Iwaizumi calls.

“Language!” Oikawa scolds haughtily. He doesn't look at Iwaizumi, instead focused on balancing on the branch as he straights up, ducking his head to avoid getting whapped by leaves.

With a tentative stretch and a careful push, the ball thuds down on the ground. Oikawa grins down at Iwaizumi, who's now standing much closer to the tree and peering up at Oikawa through the leaves.

“Don't fall,” Iwaizumi warns.

Oikawa doesn't reply, but he does lower himself back down extra cautiously. His shirt catches on a branch and scrunches up. He lets go of his grip on the trunk of the tree in order to free the fabric, and in that moment, three things happen.

First: Oikawa feels something creep across his skin, raising goosebumps.

Second: Oikawa's shirt tears free of the branch.

Third: The June bug, now trapped in Oikawa's shirt, panics.

Oikawa stays statue-still for a single heartbeat as the _thing_ under his shirt buzzes wildly against his skin. And then he lets out a screech, hands flying down to flap his shirt wildly in the air. Which means he's not holding onto the tree at all while he flails, so of course he just tumbles straight off the branch.

He hits the ground with a thud that he doesn't really process. It knocks the wind out of him, yelp cutting off into a wheeze, and Oikawa's hands continue fluttering at his stomach where he can feel the damn June bug crawling across his skin. No, no—

Iwaizumi is hovering over him, and Oikawa's vision looking up at him is blurry, clouded. Iwa-chan reaches for him, looking panicked and worried.

Oikawa bats Iwaizumi's hand away because he's fine, he's fine. He just—

Oikawa's breath hitches on a sudden inhale and he lets out a sob. Stupid bugs, ugh, he can still _feel_ it. All gross and crawly on his skin and hear the dumb buzzing, but that's probably because there's a million other little monsters just waiting to pounce on him, too.

Iwaizumi disappears, and Oikawa lets out a wail. He finally clutches at his shirt to pull it up and desperately flicks the June bug off him. So, so gross.

Oikawa shoves himself up off the ground. He's not risking any more bugs getting on him. His legs threaten to give out, and he belatedly realizes that he landed on his back when pain shoots up his spine. He hobbles towards the porch, where its marginally safer. He can't get through the door, though, because there's June bugs hitting themselves uselessly against it like the stupid creatures they are.

Oikawa stands there and sniffles, still too shaken to wipe the tears from his cheeks. Still too shaken to even realize he's crying.

The door flings up, and Oikawa flinches as he hears a June bug buzz past his ear.

Iwaizumi and his dad rush towards him. They're both fussing over him, Iwa-chan's dad asking what happened while Iwaizumi reports to the best of his ability.

“He just let go!” Iwaizumi is saying, sounding loud and angry and scared.

Oikawa sniffles pitifully. He hiccups, once, and then announces: “There was a June bug.”

Iwaizumi's mouth hangs open where he was halfway through saying something. He stares at Oikawa.

“It flew up my shirt,” Oikawa continues, feeling pathetic. God, he _hates_ bugs. How does Iwaizumi like them?

“B—but you _fell_ ,” Iwaizumi manages. “You _idiot_.”

“Are you sure you're okay?” Iwaizumi's dad asks.

Oikawa nods, even as another tear slides down his cheek. “I hate June bugs.”

Iwa-chan looks at Oikawa like he's grown a second head, and his dad shakes his head with a chuckle.

“I'll be inside. Be more careful.”

“You _asshole_ ,” Iwaizumi hisses as soon as his dad is back in the house. “I thought you were dying! You started crying so much when you hit the ground, I thought—”

Iwa-chan glares, and then punches Oikawa's shoulder, hard. Great, now his back and his shoulder hurts.

“Ow!” Oikawa cries. “Iwa-chan, stop it! I was _attacked_ , don't be mean!”

“It was a June bug!” Iwaizumi protests, waving his arms around wildly. He turns away from Oikawa, looking incredulously at the tree Oikawa had fallen from. “They don't do anything!”

“They scare me, that's what they do!” Oikawa snaps back, pouting. He rubs his shoulder. “I got scared.”

“So did I!” Iwa-chan huffs. He turns back to meet Oikawa's gaze, and suddenly the tension in him softens. “It scares me when you cry. Don't do that again, Dumbass.”

Oikawa still hasn't wiped the tear tracks off his cheeks, but he grins at Iwaizumi, smug, and quips: “Language.”

 

 

**2\. the petty one**

It's not that Oikawa is jealous. He might have a horrid personality, sure, but he's not so terrible as to deny Iwa-chan something he enjoys. Or someone.

“So,” Oikawa says as they're walking home together. He tries very hard to keep the bitterness from his voice. “You have a date tonight?”

Iwaizumi glances sideways at him and then groans. “Don't call it that.”

“But it is!” Oikawa chirps. He wants to bite off his own tongue. “Iwa-chan got asked out, and now he's going on a date.”

“Stop it,” Iwaizumi grumbles. “It's not going anywhere. I'm not going to actually date her.”

Oikawa gasps, playing up the drama as if he can use it to cover the ugly feeling in his gut. “Iwa-chan, are you leading her on?”

Iwaizumi ducks his head. “I thought it'd be fun...” His voice drops softer as he speaks. “But I don't have time to date, not with volleyball.” Suddenly, Iwaizumi's head jerks up and the volume of his words pitches up as he glares at Oikawa. “You're one to talk! You flirt around all the time.”

Oikawa pouts. “I have only the purest intentions.”

Iwaizumi snorts, dubious. “You'll never really date any of them, so I don't know why you bother.”

Oikawa feels his heart stutter. Iwa-chan doesn't know. He can't. Oikawa's tried so hard—

“You care too much about the team,” Iwaizumi is saying when Oikawa manages to hear him again over the rush of his own thoughts. “You're married to volleyball.”

Oikawa swallows, tries to quell the rapid pounding of his heart. Prays Iwaizumi doesn't notice any of it. He never has, so far, not after all these years. “At least I tried,” Oikawa huffs. “I was willing to put in more than a couple of dates just for fun.”

And he had tried. He really did. Both to like girls and to get over Iwaizumi. Neither worked out very well.

“Still, I don't think you have any right to judge me,” Iwaizumi says quietly. “I'm not the one who—”

“Where are you going for your date, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa interrupts. He does it on purpose, because he doesn't want to hear Iwaizumi call him out. He doesn't want to face that fear, that Iwaizumi will put two-and-two together eventually.

Iwaizumi glares at him, and Oikawa wonders if he'll press, but ultimately he just sighs. “The zoo, I think.”

“But we've been there before, Iwa-chan. Aren't you more creative than that?”

“It was her suggestion,” Iwaizumi grumbles. “And they got a new reptile exhibit I kind of want to see.”

Pity, Oikawa thinks hazily, because he wouldn't have minded going with Iwaizumi to see that, either. But no, he's going on a date, with some _girl_. Because of course he is, because of course Iwaizumi doesn't see Oikawa the same way Oikawa sees him. Of course Iwaizumi doesn't depend on Oikawa like he's the first breath of air after nearly drowning.

Okay, so maybe Oikawa is jealous after all. His stomach twists unpleasantly. He tries to find it in him to tease, to play it off like something is wrong. Instead, what he says is: “It's just so _cruel_ , Iwa-chan.”

He's not sure if he's talking about Iwaizumi and the girl. Or if he's talking about Iwaizumi and himself.

“What's your problem?” Iwaizumi grits out. “You go on useless dates all the time.”

Oikawa knows for a _fact_ that it's not all the time. Iwaizumi knows that too. Oikawa must have pissed him off—

“You really can't call me _cruel_ when you're such a shit to people, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi continues. He shoves his hands angrily his pockets, shoulders hunching with the movement. “I don't deserve this.”

“Neither do I,” Oikawa spits out before he can stop himself. He clamps his jaw shut, teeth clicking.

Iwaizumi's head jerks to look at Oikawa, brow written into an incredulous wrinkle. Oikawa has to physically stop himself from flinching.

“Fuck you,” Iwaizumi growls. “I'm not going to put up with your shit. Not everything is about you.”

It's not about Oikawa at all. It's Iwaizumi—always Iwaizumi. Not that Oikawa could ever say that out aloud. These are the sort of words reserved for midnight, with nothing but the darkness and his own heartbeat to listen to his confession.

And, because Oikawa can't just shut up when he's supposed to, because Iwaizumi is the only person who can reach into his chest and drag out the feelings Oikawa wasn't even sure he had the names for, he keeps going: “It's just not fair to her.”

“No, don't fucking start,” Iwaizumi grits out. He stops and turns fully to Oikawa. “This has nothing to do with you, so stay the fuck out of it.”

Oikawa stops walking, and his hands only half-consciously ball into fists at his sides. Stop talking. Stop talking. Stop—

“I just have your best interests at heart.” Oikawa tries to smile, but it comes out like a crack on the surface of a priceless vase. There's something beautiful there, but it's been ruined by anger and bitterness.

“Shut the fuck up,” Iwaizumi snarls, voice rising. “You just can't stand the fact that not everything in my life revolves around you. Just accept that you don't have to stick your nose into everything I do. I'm not your fucking toy or—or—you don't _own_ me, Oikawa, so stop acting like it.”

Oikawa feels the familiar burn of tears in the corners of his eyes. He's never before been afraid of crying in front of Iwaizumi, yet here, now, his skin crawls with the thought of letting Iwaizumi see the angry, selfish tears fall down his cheeks.

“Yeah?” Oikawa snaps back, “Maybe you should stop acting like a _child_ when it comes to other people. Then I wouldn't have to look after you all the time.”

“ _I'm_ the child?” Iwaizumi's voice is laced with something bitter and incredulous. “That's rich, coming from the most self-centered, egotistical _diva_ who can't make decisions for himself—”

“Fuck you,” Oikawa interrupts. “Go on your date. Live your life without me, then. See if I care.”

Oikawa turns and stomps away, if only so he can keep Iwaizumi from seeing the first tears escaping.

Iwaizumi doesn't follow after him, and Oikawa doesn't want him to. He storms home, angry and exhausted and guilty, and curls up into his bed before his parents can stop him from hiding in his room for the rest of the night. Preferably, the rest of the week.

 

Practice is horrible.

See, classes, Oikawa can survive. Sure, Iwaizumi sits next to him throughout almost the entire day, but Oikawa has mastered his ability to concentrate on exactly one thing and nothing else. He can ignore the oppressive presence of Iwaizumi's fury next to him when he's focused on a math problem or reading a book.

But after school—with Iwaizumi and Oikawa essential members of the team even as second-years, its much harder to avoid Iwaizumi's anger.

Oikawa botches his fifth toss to Iwaizumi during their three-on-three game before the coach finally swaps Oikawa to the other team. Except then he's staring at Iwaizumi through the net, meeting his cold gaze with every volley.

Oikawa doesn't know if he wants to plead for forgiveness—as he should—or just get struck by lightning where he stands—the much easier option.

But instead, he's just getting struck by volleyballs.

Iwaizumi launches another spike aimed right at Oikawa's head, and he has to desperately dodge away from the wild shot in order to avoid another nosebleed courtesy of Iwaizumi.

“Alright,” their coach announces after another ten minutes of Oikawa collecting bruises from Iwaizumi's spikes. “What's wrong with you both? If you can't play right, you don't play at all. Both of you, off the court. Run a lap around the gym. Clear your heads.”

Oikawa feels fear fire down his spine, nerves set alight by the instinctive panic of _I'm not good enough to stay on the court; I lost, I lost, I lost—_

Iwaizumi growls at him, grips the back of his collar, and bodily hauls Oikawa outside.

“Look what you did,” Iwaizumi mutters, still panting from the half-played game. “I'm not going to have Coach mad at me because of you.”

“You keep trying to pummel me off the court,” Oikawa protests, though his voice comes out weak.

“Maybe you deserve it,” Iwaizumi retorts, and then sets off to start his lap.

Oikawa stares after him for a moment. Nausea curls in his stomach, threatening to overtake him, but he forces himself to swallow down the ugly feeling and starts his lap, too, making sure to keep some distance between him and Iwaizumi.

 _Maybe he does deserve it_.

 

The next day, there's no practice. Normally, this is the day that Oikawa always shows up to the gym anyway, trying to overcome his own faults, and inevitably Iwaizumi shows up too, specifically to keep Oikawa from overworking himself.

Today, though, Oikawa just goes home. Part of him still itches to practice—he's not _good_ enough—but the rest of him can't bear the thought of seeing Iwaizumi come for him.

Or, even worse: that Iwaizumi wouldn't come at all.

 

The third day, Oikawa skips practice. It's not entirely ungrounded, because the thought of having to play against Iwaizumi's icy glare again makes him feel sick. But he's never voluntarily missed practice before, and the selfishness of the choice settles unpleasantly in him next to all his other mistakes.

He's resigned to the fact that this cold war between him and Iwaizumi might just last forever, but maybe he can delay the inevitable confrontation for a while longer. It's Friday, which means he can put off seeing Iwaizumi for three whole days before he has to face him again, and maybe by then the pain in his chest will be bearable.

Except for the fact that Iwaizumi is barging into his room that night, throwing Oikawa's door open with enough force to rattle the walls.

“What shit are you on?” Iwaizumi snarls.

Oikawa curls up into a tighter ball on his bed, where he's been prone to wallowing for the past three days, wrapped in blankets. “Go away.”

“ _Oikawa_ ,” Iwaizumi growls, vehement. “I get it if you're pissed at me, but you're not sacrificing volleyball for _me_.”

“Pissed at you?” Oikawa echoes, incredulous. “Why would I—I'm the piece of shit. You're the one mad at me. And you _are_ right. I do deserve it.” Oikawa sniffles and then ducks his head into his blanket cocoon.

“Listen,” Iwaizumi says, and his voice is suddenly much closer and much softer than Oikawa could dream of hearing again. “We both said some shit we regret. We should talk it out. Get over it. It's better that way.”

“You're better off without me,” Oikawa grumbles miserably from his blanket pile.

“Don't say that,” Iwaizumi says softly. Oikawa feels the weight of his hand on top of the blankets where Oikawa's arm would be.

“You said it,” Oikawa argues. “It's true.”

“I didn't mean it,” Iwaizumi says. “Oikawa, you're my best friend, and yeah, you're a controlling piece of shit sometimes and you're fucking infuriating at others, but I—I wouldn't trade you for some girl. Ever.”

“That's not what this is about,” Oikawa says. He turns over, so he's facing Iwaizumi, even if he's staring right past him at some undetermined spot on the wall. “I'm sorry, Hajime,” he manages to choke out. “I didn't mean anything I said, I just—I'm—” He cuts himself off before he says anything else he regrets.

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi prods. “What is it?”

Oikawa feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes. “You deserve so much better than me,” he mutters. “Someone who doesn't—”

“Stop it,” Iwaizumi says. “Whatever it is, we'll work it out. You fucked up, okay? I get that. I fucked up, too. Maybe not as catastrophically as starting an argument with my best friend, but shit happens. We'll get through it together.”

Oikawa only half-processes anything Iwaizumi says. “I'm—scared of losing you.”

The tears finally fall, and this time, Oikawa doesn't hide them from Iwaizumi. He wears them like neon signs, a cry for help, a plead for Iwaizumi to not hate him.

Iwaizumi's brow pinches with confusion. “Over a fight? Dumbass, we've fought before and made it up. Remember when I nearly broke your arm—”

“Not that,” Oikawa chokes out. “It's not—it's different. I'm different.”

Oikawa tastes his heartbeat in his throat, a hummingbird trapped under his skin. He didn't plan this, but he can't stop now. His tongue won't listen to his brain, not really. Maybe it's just because he wants this horrible limbo with Iwaizumi to end. After tonight, Iwaizumi is either his best friend again, or he'll hate him forever. Either way, Oikawa can move on.

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi breathes, sounding concerned. “What's wrong?”

Oikawa smiles bitterly. “Me,” he answers instantly, as if he can covered up who he is by just summing everything up as a mistake.

Iwaizumi scowls, but before he can scold, Oikawa continues.

The words blurt from his lips, falling against the blankets, wet with tears: “I'm gay.”

“Christ,” Iwaizumi breathes out.

Oikawa stiffens, gaze flicking up through his tears to watch Iwaizumi's expression.

But Iwaizumi just sighs, shakes his head, and then looks back at Oikawa. “I don't know why I expected you to be less dramatic about this than anything else,” he says. “You had me worried.”

Oikawa swallows around the lump in his throat, and his mouth hangs open with unspoken words, taste of panic on his tongue.

Iwaizumi must read him—from his tears to his wild eyes to the heart that Oikawa gave him so, so long ago even if Iwaizumi doesn't realize he holds it—because he moves his thumb to smooth over Oikawa's cheek, wiping away a tear. “There's nothing you could do,” he states, all his usual gruffness is replaced with firm sincerity, “That would make you lose me.”

Oikawa hiccups out a pitiful noise. He struggles, flailing under his tangle of blankets to try and reach Iwaizumi. After enough wriggling, he manages to get his hands out and wraps them around Iwaizumi's shoulders, hauling him down onto the bed, too.

“Damn it, Oikawa,” Iwaizumi grumbles, even as he relaxes into a more comfortable position next to Oikawa on the bed. “You're going to get snot all over me.”

“Don't care,” Oikawa huffs out, voice wet and tearful and elated all at once. “I'm sorry, Iwa-chan—I'm so sorry—”

“Hey,” Iwaizumi says gently. “It's okay. I said we'd get through it, right? I'm sorry, too.”

Oikawa nods, smearing wet tears and snot all over Iwaizumi's shoulder where he unapologetically presses his face into the familiar warmth.

After a moment, when Oikawa's shaky breaths have smoothed into something steadier, Iwaizumi runs his hand down the length of Oikawa's arm. “I should, uh... For me, too.”

Oikawa picks his face up off of Iwaizumi's shirt to look at him, nose unintentionally brushing along Iwaizumi's jaw. “What?”

Iwaizumi's ears turn pink and he glances away. “I'm—pretty sure I'm gay, too.”

“Oh!” Oikawa chirps, and _God_ , he wishes he could quell the intense shot of hope that burns through him. He should be happy with this, just this—

Iwaizumi clears his throat. “You missed practice today.”

Oikawa tilts his head to the side. “Yeah?”

“Do you want to go toss for me a bit outside?” Iwaizumi offers. “Or I could practice receiving your serves.”

Oikawa feels such an overwhelming wave of adoration and _appreciation_ for Iwaizumi in that exact moment that he only barely manages to keep from confessing right then and there. Instead, he nods eagerly, and lets Iwaizumi drag him up. Oikawa goes to wash his face, and when he's done, Iwaizumi is waiting for him.

Oikawa is blind, if he doesn't see what he has. He _is_ happy with this. Just this. Even if it's friendship, or more, or just hope, livewire in his blood and electric in the air. It doesn't matter, because as long as he has Iwaizumi, he's happy. That's all there is to it.

 

 

**3\. the goodbye one**

After the match with Karasuno, they'd made a promise to each other. When they were on the court—when their gazes met through the grid of the net—that they wouldn't back down, no matter what. They've been friends their entire lives, sure, but that meant nothing in comparison to the taste of victory and sweat on their lips. They made a promise to each other: to keep being relentless.

All that, worthless.

They're going to the same university.

It wasn't intentional, but chance or happenstance or even some greater deity gave them this, too. They're partners to the... end?

Oikawa should be able to say that confidently. Iwaizumi had said he was proud, that he couldn't ask for a better partner. But the way he'd spoken, with such finality... And Oikawa had already resigned himself to a new distance between them.

Of course, Oikawa was still going to pine and miss him and probably call Iwaizumi at some ungodly hour of the night just to hear his grumpy response on the phone. But there would be miles between them where before there had been mere footsteps. There would be growth and progress that they would make, apart from each other, and when next they'd reunite, they'd be different people.

Maybe Oikawa would finally, finally, get over him.

But now: now there's hope of this easy friendship to carry on, for that growth to keep happening side-by-side. Oikawa's heart sings at the prospect, at the idea of setting for Iwaizumi for another four years. At being this close, at _staying_ this close.

They'd found out about the university, almost on accident, on the morning of the last day of school before the break. (Oikawa isn't sure how something so important slipped through the cracks, but actually, he does: neither of them wanted to face the possibility of having to be apart).

By now, walking home together for the last time, Oikawa's cried about nearly everything over the course of the day. He's even cried over Hanamaki leaving, for God's sake, so that's saying something. This, too, with the sun setting as they wander home together on their last day of high school, has some solemn, nostalgic emotion welling in Oikawa's chest.

Iwaizumi's been fine for the most part. He managed to get through the day dry-eyed, right up until the first- and second-years all got together and shouted their thanks at the third-years. Oikawa had caught sight of Iwaizumi's trembling lip and glassy eyes, though honestly, Oikawa was sobbing at that point so his vision wasn't at its finest.

He'd expected, at the end of this walk, that they'd say goodbye. That this would be the end, or at least the beginning of the end. That they'd drift, as people do, that this new chapter marks for bigger and better things.

So maybe it's that lingering thought that doesn't let Oikawa enjoy the moment. Maybe it's the nagging notion that Iwaizumi can do so much _better_ than Oikawa. That he _deserves_ so much better. There will be so much _more_ for Iwa-chan at college, so why would he even bother being around Oikawa anymore?

Iwaizumi, eyes still rimmed in red from their last practice, glances sideways at Oikawa and scoffs.

“What?” Oikawa croaks out.

“You're overthinking something,” Iwaizumi retorts, though his voice is still scratchy, too.

“No,” Oikawa tells him. It's a miracle his voice doesn't crack.

“What's on your mind, Shittykawa?”

“Nothing,” Oikawa says stubbornly. It's dumb. He's dumb. Why is Iwaizumi even still with him? Why didn't he leave forever ago, back when they were stupid kids?

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi warns.

“It's nothing,” Oikawa insists.

“What is _it_?” Iwaizumi stops walking, and Oikawa does, too.

Oikawa doesn't look at him.

“Asshole, last time you didn't tell me what was going on, you had a gay crisis and we fought for three days. I'm not starting the summer like that. Just spit it out.”

Oikawa turns, but keeps his gaze lowered. “Why are you still here?”

“What the fuck?” Iwaizumi sounds legitimately puzzled, and Oikawa peeks through his bangs to look at him. “What does that mean?”

“Why... are you still here, with me?” Oikawa echoes.

“We... live this way?”

“It's over. High school is over. You don't—you don't have to be here anymore.”

Iwaizumi's brow pinches together. “Oikawa, what are you talking about?”

Oikawa takes a shaky breath. “I'm not captain anymore, I'm not—not anything, really. So there's nothing keeping you here. When we're at college, you don't have to see me—it's okay. I get it. I won't be a shit about it.”

Iwaizumi's lips tilt down into a sharp frown. “What the hell are you on? Why wouldn't I see you—Oikawa, what the fuck.”

“I'm nothing special,” Oikawa says, breath a sharp hiss past his lips. “There will be so many more people for you to—hang out with, and—”

_—fall in love with._

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi says sharply, and Oikawa feels nerves spike down his spine. “You're acting like we're never going to see each other again.”

“If that's what you want,” Oikawa starts to say, but Iwaizumi cuts him off before he can finish explaining himself.

“Why the _fuck—_ Oikawa, what are—” Iwaizumi's voice starts out angry, and then mellows into something softer, more vulnerable. “How could you even think I'd never want to see you again?”

“I don't know,” Oikawa hiccups out. “I don't know—I'm just—”

“Stop it,” Iwaizumi mumbles. “Whatever you're thinking about, stop it.”

Oikawa nods, and his breath catches in his throat, and the tears drip down his cheeks.

“Why—why would you... ever think I don't want to be with you?”

Something about the way Iwaizumi's voice comes out in a whisper drags honesty from Oikawa: “Because I'm not good enough for you.” Maybe it's because Iwaizumi sounds scared, just like the terrified tightness in Oikawa's chest.

Maybe it's the crying. Iwaizumi's seen Oikawa cry enough times to get used to it. But there's still something about Oikawa's tears that he knows gets to Iwaizumi. Digs under his skin and sticks there. Because Oikawa only cries when things really _matter_. Iwaizumi _matters_.

“Don't say that,” Iwaizumi breathes out. Oikawa picks his head up enough to watch Iwaizumi's expression shift into horror. His entire body jerks, flinching in Oikawa's direction. “Don't say that—Tooru—you're— _everything_.”

The smile that twitches at Oikawa's mouth is bitter; it cracks his expression in half. “I'm not—”

But the rest is spoken against Iwaizumi's lips.

Oikawa recoils on instinct alone, before he can process what's happened. He reels back, if only because his brain managed to realize Iwaizumi was lunging for him. And in every other past experience, Iwaizumi lunging for him means he's about to be headbutted and end up bleeding all over the ground.

But that's not what's just happened. Oikawa is not bleeding. He's still crying, probably, and Iwaizumi is staring at him like he's a wounded animal, scared and determined all at once.

But he's not bleeding. So that means Iwaizumi didn't hit him. He's not dreaming. It's not a hallucination.

Iwaizumi kissed him.

Iwaizumi's shoulder slump as he curls in on himself. He turns away, hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Sorry, I—”

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa sniffles. “Do you like me?”

Oikawa watches, with increasing glee forming in his stomach, as Iwaizumi's ears turn pink. “If it's not clear by now how I feel about you, I don't know what else to do,” he grumbles.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says, drawing out the vowels in the way he knows Iwaizumi specifically hates. “You kissed me.”

“Yeah, Idiot, I did. And obviously you didn't like—I'm sorry.”

“You should be sorry,” Oikawa says lightly. “You didn't give me a chance to kiss you back.”

Iwaizumi's gaze flicks towards him. “You _flinched_.”

“To be fair,” Oikawa tells him, “Most times you're that close to me, you're ruining my face with your forehead.”

Iwaizumi at least looks a little bit guilty at that, but the expression slips away quickly. “Come here, then.”

Oikawa steps forward, into Iwaizumi's space.

Iwaizumi brings his hands up to cup Oikawa's face, thumbs running over his wet cheekbones. “You're such a fuckin' crybaby.”

“I just don't want to be alone,” Oikawa admits softly. “And I want you to be happy.”

“Being with you makes me happy,” Iwaizumi says, without a hint of hesitation. It warms Oikawa's heart. “College won't change that. Stop doubting yourself.”

Oikawa opens his mouth to respond, but that's the same moment Iwaizumi leans forward to press a kiss to the corner of Oikawa's mouth, and the words catch with his breath in his throat.

“Stop thinking,” Iwaizumi tells him. “Stop talking. Just kiss me. I've waited too damn long for this.”

“ _You've_ waited? I've—”

“ _Stop talking_ ,” Iwaizumi growls. His hand moves from Oikawa's cheek and slips to the nape of his neck. Iwaizumi drags him close. He pushes their lips together, warm and soft and wanting, and Oikawa forgets whatever it was he was going to say.

 

Summer bliss and shared kisses; when they start college, it's hand-in-hand, and Oikawa isn't so afraid anymore, with Iwaizumi by his side.

 

 

**4\. the how dare you one**

By eight in the evening, Oikawa is on the brink of panic. Even when Iwaizumi is late, he calls, texts—something. Oikawa checks his phone for the twentieth time in the past five minutes, hoping desperately for a message.

Instead, it rings in his hands. Oikawa scrambles to answer it, only half-registering the caller.

“D-Daichi? What—is Hajime okay?”

“I mean—we're at the hospital—”

“Fuck— _fuck—_ Hajime, I'm coming—”

“Wait, Oikawa, hold on. Just—”

But he's already hung up the phone, dropped it on the couch while he dives for his keys.

 

Oikawa's holding back tears as he bursts through the hospital doors. He blinks through blurry vision as he rushes towards the receptionist. The fact he drove here without incident is quite possibly a miracle.

The receptionist looks up at him with mild concern layered over exhaustion. “Sir—”

“Hajime,” Oikawa chokes out. “Iwaizumi Hajime—”

“You're looking for someone?” the receptionist clarifies, and Oikawa nods furiously. He wrings his fingers together, muscles tight with anxiety. “Do you know where he was admitted?”

Oikawa opens his mouth, and then closes it again. “I don't know,” he whimpers out, helpless.

“Did you receive a call from emergency services?” the receptionist asks calmly.

“No, a—a friend of ours.”

“You're not family?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Unfortunately, if he's in ER, I can't send you through unless you're related.”

“ _Please_ ,” Oikawa chokes out. “I just—I don't know what's happened—”

“Oikawa!”

Whirling, Oikawa nearly chokes out a sob at the sight of Daichi walking towards him. It's not quite relief, but it's something at least a little familiar, a little known, in all the uncertainty.

“I'm sorry,” Daichi says to the receptionist, putting a hand on Oikawa's shoulder. “He's looking for room 235. Just visiting someone who has been admitted for the night.”

“Visiting hours end in about forty-five minutes,” the receptionist informs them.

“Got it,” Daichi says with a nod. He uses his hold on Oikawa's shoulder to guide him away.

As soon as they've turned from the receptionist desk, Oikawa tugs at Daichi's shirt, fingers tangling in the fabric as he clutches to the only thing keeping him grounded right now. “Hajime—”

“He's _fine_ ,” Daichi says firmly.

“He's _not_ fine,” Oikawa manages. “Not if he's in a h-hospital! What happened?”

Daichi leads the way to some elevators. “There was an accident with some equipment. His right arm's been—well—pretty beat up, honestly, but it just needs to heal. It's basically a broken arm. Just hurts more than usual.”

Oikawa sniffles. “What do you mean?”

Daichi releases Oikawa's shoulder in order to rub at the back of his neck. He tilts his head to avoid Oikawa's gaze. “I don't think you really want me to go into detail.”

“No, _no_ ,” Oikawa whines. “Tell me.”

Daichi looks up as the elevator comes to a stop. He glances towards the ceiling, as if praying to some higher being, before nodding towards the open doors and stepping into the hallway. Oikawa trails after him, still clinging to his shirt.

“I wasn't actually—there, so this is what I've heard. But there was a botched connection on one of our crossbeams. Normally this sort of thing isn't even possible but—well, anyway, Iwaizumi was doing inspections on-site, and he ended up under a collapse. He's bruised here and there, but his arm was crushed under the beam. Shattered, really.”

Oikawa sucks in a very shaky breath. His heart is pounding so fast against his ribs he can't tell the individual beats apart anymore.

“He's okay,” Daichi says soft but firm. “He's okay. He's stable. They got him out. But his phone apparently fell into the wreckage, and I wasn't told until after he'd been moved here and stabilized.” Daichi pauses, turning towards Oikawa. “He's been on pretty hefty painkillers all day, which is why they're keeping him overnight. He'd just woken up a few minutes before I got here and called you.”

Daichi turns and reaches for the handle of the door they've stopped in front of, and Oikawa distantly realizes this is the room Daichi had mentioned earlier.

Daichi sighs. “I'm sorry, I'm not good at dealing with you panicking,” he murmurs. “Especially when you hang the phone up on me before I can explain. But I'm sure Iwaizumi will be happy to see you.”

Oikawa is still clutching Daichi's shirt, wrinkling the fabric under his grip, and he forces his fingers to uncurl as he steps tentatively into the room.

The thought of Iwaizumi: buried under rubble, hurt, caught under the unforgiving steel and harsh concrete he often works with. It all swirls in Oikawa's head, layered over the image his eyes are processing of Iwaizumi reclining in a hospital bed, arm curled against his chest where it rests in a white cast.

Oikawa stumbles towards the bed, and he falls to his knees because his legs won't Goddamn work—

Iwaizumi blinks at him, and then his lips curl into a slow smile. “ _Tooru_.”

“Oh my God,” Oikawa chokes out. He can feel the drip of tears from his chin, can hear the faint sound of them patting against the sheets where they fall, can taste the salty terror of them in the back of his throat, and even in all of this, Oikawa can't tell if he's actually crying.

Iwaizumi's head lolls towards him where it's propped on the pillows, and Iwaizumi furrows his brow at Oikawa, lips pinching together with concentration for a moment. “Wh... why are you... sad?” Iwaizumi drawls. His words slur together.

“Hajime,” Oikawa breathes.

Residual fear washes over him in waves. Seeing Iwaizumi in person grounds him just enough from falling apart, but now he can't stop thinking about how things could have been _worse_. What would he have done if the last time he saw Iwaizumi was that morning, when Oikawa was running late to work and pressed a rushed kiss to Iwa-chan's cheek before hurrying out the door? What if the last conversation they had was at lunch, about Oikawa teasing him over wanting to do something sappy for the five-year mark of them living together outside of college?

“God damn it, Hajime,” Oikawa hisses. He reaches for Iwaizumi's undamaged hand and fits their fingers together with a sort of desperate and terrified adoration. “You c-can't—you can't scare me like that.”

The corners of Iwaizumi's eyes crinkle, a smile written into his features even without the upwards twitch of his lips. “Like what?”

“Fuck,” Oikawa says. “Damn it, Iwaizumi, just—God—I was so _worried_.” Oikawa rests his forehead against their joined hands. “I thought you were gone.”

“But I'm here,” Iwaizumi slurs out. “Why are you crying? I'm here.”

Oikawa's chest jolts with the breath that catches in his lungs. “I know,” he breathes out, even as there's tears wetting their joined hands. “I know you're here. Don't you ever leave me again.”

 

Oikawa knows Iwaizumi is restless. They're both driven, always, and that fact is partly why they make such a good team. They encourage each other, push each other to new heights: striving towards perfection, hand in hand. For each mountain Oikawa climbs, Iwaizumi is right there behind him, ready to catch him if he slips—or, ahead, carefully leading the way while Oikawa follows the path Iwaizumi uncovers.

Iwaizumi has always been, at his core, dependable. Yes, he slips up sometimes, and just like Oikawa, lets things get away from him. In college, Oikawa had to pull Iwaizumi back from committing to too many projects at once on multiple occasions, because Iwaizumi is _driven_ and he _knows_ he's a good leader. He prides himself on it.

In high school, Oikawa was the captain of the volleyball team. But it was Iwaizumi who kept them together.

See, that's it: Iwaizumi isn't the type of person to demand attention. He doesn't want blatant recognition or praise. He wants progress, results, and will do everything he can to make sure those that rely on him can do their best, and in turn, he gives them everything he has. When he pours himself into something, he doesn't just dedicate himself to the action—be it volleyball or honor societies or engineering—but also to the people around him, his teammates, his organization, his colleagues.

It is this that makes Iwaizumi so valuable to those around him. He never holds himself back, never hides his commitment. But, here, as Iwaizumi grumbles from his place propped on the couch, arm caught in a thick cast, is the dark side of his dedication. Because when he fails, when things come crashing down around him, that barely-tamed anger comes brimming to the surface, and with it, the bitter taste of lost trust.

Oikawa is sitting in the armchair next to the couch, reading aloud to Iwaizumi, when he's suddenly interrupted.

“I need to get back,” Iwaizumi grunts. He shifts, and then winces as he moves his arm the wrong way. Again. His face twists into some ugly emotion.

“You need to rest,” Oikawa says, not gentle but not unkind.

“The entire timeline has been delayed, I need to at least plan—” Iwaizumi makes as if to stand, as if to walk out of the apartment half-high on painkillers and with only one working arm. It's been two days since the accident. Two.

“Don't you dare get up,” Oikawa huffs at him. “You're far more valuable than some project. I know you have your stupid engineer pride, but you're hurt, Hajime. You need to heal. I'm not—” Oikawa suddenly chokes on the words, throat tightening.

“I can't stand being the reason this project is delayed!” Iwaizumi grits out. “We have so much to—”

“I don't care!” Oikawa says loudly, overpowering Iwaizumi with his volume. “I can't stand seeing you get hurt again!” His voice trembles, and that's when Iwaizumi's gaze snaps up to him.

“Tooru, are you..?”

“You are far more valuable that any fucking building,” Oikawa says, and the first tears slip down his cheeks. He still remembers the taste of panic on his tongue, the fear turning his breath short as he drove to the hospital. “And it's not your fault that things got fucked up in the first place, so stop blaming yourself.”

Iwaizumi's good hand clenches into a fist. “But it is. I'm the project lead. I'm the one who makes sure everything is in order. I'm the one who should be blamed. Everyone depends on me—”

“That's just it!” Oikawa cuts him off, breathing shaky with stubborn sobs. “You hate it when people expect things of you and you can provide. I get it. But you can't always give yourself to everyone like that, Hajime. You're going to wear yourself into the ground. So please... please, for once, let me take care of you. Depend on me, and I'll take care of you.”

Iwaizumi stares at him. Slowly, he licks his lips and looks away, before breathing out, “Okay.”

Oikawa sets the book he's been clutching at down on the coffee table, only half paying attention to the page he'd wrinkled on accident while arguing. He slips from the chair and ends up on his knees, next to where Iwaizumi is laying on the couch.

“I know,” Oikawa says softly, taking Iwaizumi's good hand. “That you hate feeling useless. Trust me, _I know_. But you're so, so capable, Hajime. Everyone knows that. Everyone knows how much you put into what you do. You don't need to prove it every waking second. We trust you in this, too.”

Iwaizumi's gaze locks onto to Oikawa's face and sticks there. “Moron,” he says. “Why are you crying?”

Oikawa shakes his head and presses a kiss to Iwaizumi's knuckles. “Just—you're not alone, okay? You have people that _you_ can rely on too. And I want to be here for you. I want to be one of those people, if you'll let me.”

Iwaizumi's lips twitch, a ghost of a smile hidden there. His hand turns to cup Oikawa's creeks, thumb away a stray tear. “You act as if you don't realize how much I already depend on you. God, Tooru, you're what keeps me going. How can you not see that?”

Oikawa just sniffles, and leans against Iwaizumi's palm.

“Okay,” Iwaizumi says again. “No work. Wait, but I should—”

“No,” Oikawa says. “They can handle it. You always give your best for them. They know that. So they'll give their best for you while you're gone.”

Iwaizumi sighs. “Okay, okay, you're right. I trust them. I do. No work, at all.”

“Good,” Oikawa murmurs. He turns to brush his lips across Iwaizumi's hand. “Do you need anything?”

Iwaizumi hums, thumb stroking Oikawa's cheek again. His voice dips low when he speaks. “Maybe a distraction.”

Oikawa smiles against his skin, tilting his head to look at Iwaizumi through his lashes. “I can do that.”

“Come here, then,” Iwaizumi hums, pleased, and, as always, Oikawa goes to him.

 

“ _Tooru_ ,” Iwaizumi growls from their bedroom.

Oikawa blinks as his laptop screen, slowly regaining the ability to process his surroundings after staring at an excel sheet for the past two hours. It's been a week since the accident, and things are slowly sliding back towards normality. The taste of fear is slowly fading from the back of Oikawa's throat.

He stretches, back cracking, as he wanders toward the bedroom. “Yeah?”

Iwaizumi narrows his eyes at him. “What is _this_?” He shoves his laptop across the bed with his good arm, turning it so the screen faces Oikawa.

“What?” Oikawa says absently, and kneels next to the bed to read the screen.

It's a news article, big block letters scrawled across the top of the page: _ENGINEERING FIRM UNDER FIRE FOR COLLAPSE THAT INJURED WORKER_.

“You'd think they'd come up with a better term than _worker_ ,” Oikawa huffs. “I think you rank higher than that. Also, didn't we agree to no work stuff?”

“Scroll down,” Iwaizumi snarls.

“What do you...” Oikawa aimlessly scrolls through the article—and then his eyes catch on _his_ name. Not Iwaizumi's. His. He scans the paragraph. Swallows. Reads it again, and feels heat curl up the back of his neck and threaten his cheeks.

“Did you find it?” Iwaizumi asks, venomous and too-sweet. “Would you like to read it out loud?”

“No,” Oikawa squeaks.

“ _Tooru_ ,” Iwaizumi hisses warningly.

“I didn't know they'd put it in an article!” Oikawa says defensively. He stands and tries his best to look pitiful as he watches Iwaizumi's wrinkled brow. “They called and—I didn't want you to worry about work, but they wouldn't take any statements from me unless I was family, so...”

 _“Hajime is recovering well,” says Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi's_ husband _, “He can't wait to get back to work.”_

“I had hoped,” Iwaizumi says lowly, staring at him. “That you knew nothing about this, and we could write it off as a typo and never speak of it again.”

“Never?” Oikawa says, deflating a little. “Is it that bad?”

Iwaizumi sighs, and rubs at his eyes. “God, you're going to get sad about this, aren't you?”

“No,” Oikawa says, petulant. “Maybe.”

“I can't believe you,” Iwaizumi says. “The entire company is going to be furious they weren't invited to the wedding.”

Oikawa snorts. “I would've liked to be there, too.”

Iwaizumi lets out a begrudging chuckle at that. “Me too.” He sighs again. “Come here.”

Oikawa gently closes the laptop and scoots it out of the way so he can curl into Iwaizumi's side. Iwaizumi runs his good hand through Oikawa's hair, movements turned soft with adoration.

“You know, it's not that I don't want to, right?” Iwaizumi murmurs.

“I wasn't trying to pressure you or anything,” Oikawa whispers back. He traces patterns onto Iwaizumi's thigh. “I just was trying to take care of you.”

“I know,” Iwaizumi says, and presses a kiss to Oikawa's shoulder. “I'm not really mad, even if I will have to deal with my coworkers for the next two years about this.”

“Just don't tell them,” Oikawa says.

Iwaizumi hums at that, not really answering. Instead, he says, “I'm just waiting for the right time.”

Oikawa's breath catches. His chest tightens into something breathless. “Iwa-chan is planning to propose?”

“Not any time soon, you impatient brat. I need both my arms for it.”

Oikawa snickers. “Get better quick, then, Iwa-chan.”

“Take better care of me, then,” Iwaizumi snarks back.

Oikawa turns and plants a sloppy kiss on Iwaizumi's cheek. “Kisses fix hurt things, right?”

 

Some time later, when Oikawa shows up as Iwaizumi's date for the company holiday party, nearly everyone he meets already knows his name. It's not until Iwaizumi slips away to take a phone call from his mom and someone asks Oikawa where his husband had wandered off to that it clicks.

When Iwaizumi comes back, Oikawa doesn't stop smirking over the edge of his glass at him for the rest of the night.

Not so bad after all, is it, Iwa-chan?

 

 

**5\. the nothing goes right one**

“Holy shit,” Oikawa breathes, stunned. The view from the hotel room is breathtaking: a stretch of white sand until it shifts to the bright blue of the ocean. Oikawa feels small and inconsequential in the face of this natural beauty, in the face of the expanse of the world. In a moment, in a blink, it humbles him, makes him grateful for everything that's brought him right here, to this single heartbeat.

“Yeah, pretty great, huh?” Bokuto coos from behind them.

“I don't even know how you landed us a reservation,” Oikawa breathes. Almost gingerly, he reaches out to open the glass doors leading to a small balcony. As soon as he steps up to the railing, the salty breeze rushes to greet him.

“Yeah, well, anything to help a friend!” Bokuto says.

Glancing over his shoulder, Oikawa manages to catch the tail of the withering look Iwaizumi sends in Bokuto's direction. It's almost impressive how ineffective it is. Oikawa deflects Iwaizumi's ire with wit and confidence; Bokuto is just straight-up _immune_ , though that may be entirely due to not even noticing it in the first place.

“Bokuto-san,” comes Akaashi's level voice from the hall. “Could you help a guest downstairs with their luggage?”

“Sure, 'Kaashi!” Bokuto cheers, and plants a kiss on Akaashi's cheek as he rushes out of the room.

“You know,” Oikawa says, turning back to observe the room. “When I'd heard about Bokuto in high school, top five ace and all, I hadn't really expect this to be where he'd end up. Hotel management wasn't my first pick for either of you.”

Akaashi quirks an eyebrow at him, and then shrugs. “I suppose you're right. But he works well with people, and I work well with organization. We make it work.”

“It's a lovely place,” Iwaizumi comments.

“It is,” Akaashi agrees. The corner of his mouth twitches, as if he was about to let a smile slip past his neutral mask. “A lot of couples find it rather romantic here. I'll leave you two to get settled.” And with that, he's gone.

Oikawa turns to Iwaizumi, eyebrows raised. “Iwa-chan, did you pick here because it was _romantic_?”

“No,” Iwaizumi grumbles, turning to their luggage to start unpacking for the week. He's blushing.

“Iwa-chaaaan,” Oikawa whines. “You're lying!”

“Akaashi gave us a good deal,” Iwaizumi mumbles. “It was a nice place. And you said you wanted to go to the beach.”

Oikawa sniffles dramatically. “You _do_ listen to me, after all.”

“Sometimes. Occasionally. Like a fifth of the time, maybe.”

Oikawa snags a pillow off the bed and hits Iwaizumi's shoulder with it. “Mean!”

“I'm mean? I'm _unpacking_! Get over here—” Iwaizumi lunges for him.

Oikawa lets out a screech and dances away. He's twenty-eight; he shouldn't be running around a hotel room with his boyfriend. Turns out, Oikawa absolutely _does not care_ about what age he should be enticing Iwaizumi into a game of chase. They don't get unpacked for another two hours or so.

 

Oikawa and Iwaizumi's current apartment does not have a balcony.

Their room at the resort does have a balcony.

Obviously, Oikawa is in love, and he's spent at least the last twenty minutes trying to convince Iwaizumi that they have to move, immediately, after their vacation.

Iwaizumi doesn't budge on that front, but he does let Oikawa drag him onto the balcony, curled together in a large outdoor chair and wrapped in blankets.

Iwaizumi is warm against him, sleepy and solid as Oiakwa curls into his lap, legs thrown over Iwaizuzmi's. He has his hands wrapped around Iwaizumi's waist under the blanket, head resting on Iwaizumi's shoulder, and Iwaizumi periodically presses kisses to the top of Oikawa's head.

There's something still and serene in this moment, with the stars twinkling overhead and the sound of waves in the distance. Oikawa loves this. It's all he needs: a break from the world, the stars, and Iwaizumi. He's content to stay here for the rest of his life. Here, the world falls away entirely.

Oikawa pushes his lips against Iwaziumi's neck absently, pressing closer. He watches, blearily, as the nightly bonfire some distance on the beach flicks embers towards the sky. There are people there, he's sure, but he and Iwaizumi are so far removed that they don't matter, that the flames mean nothing but beauty from this distance.

“Do you want to go?” Iwaizumi asks, voice low and gruff.

“No,” Oikawa murmurs. “'Nother time, maybe.” He curls his fingers into Iwaizumi's shirt and then slips his hands underneath instead, scraping his nails lightly across Iwaizumi's ribs.

Iwaizumi shifts, turning so that Oikawa is leaning more against the backrest of the chair, with Iwaizumi hovering over him. He feels small, safe.

“Christ,” Iwaizumi chokes out. “You're gorgeous.”

Oikawa hums, unwilling to break the mood with a snarky reply, too pleased and content to warrant embarrassment at Iwaizumi's bluntness.

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi breathes. “I—”

He flushes, or at least Oikawa presumes so. It's hard to tell in the low light, but there's a rare undercurrent of bashfulness to Iwaizumi's movements.

Oikawa hums again, and pulls Iwaizumi closer, pressing a kiss to his lips. He tastes like the wine they'd had at dinner, and maybe that's what caused this sleepy adoration, except that Oikawa knows neither of them had nearly enough to get drunk.

“Come here,” Oikawa pleads, running his hands over Iwaizumi's back under his shirt. “Stay. Kiss me.”

Iwaizumi hesitates for only a moment, and then his entire posture shifts. He'd been keeping just a bit of distance between them, reserved, for some reason, like he didn't know whether Oikawa wanted him or not. As if Oikawa would ever not want him.

Now, his weight rests easily on top of Oikawa, one arm curled around Oikawa's waist while the other braces against the back of the chair, fingers threaded through Oikawa's hair. He shudders against Oikawa, running his nose across Oikawa's cheekbone, movement reverent and loving. Oikawa's fingers grip against the muscles in Iwaizumi's back.

“Kiss me,” Oikawa repeats, impatient and yet not.

So Iwaizumi does. He does, and so much more.

 

Oikawa blinks down at his phone, disbelieving. He glances at Iwaizumi across the table and lets out a huff to announce his annoyance before he starts explaining.

“They're doing a cover on Ushiwaka,” Oikawa says.

Iwaizumi quirks an eyebrow at him. “Who is?”

“My team, apparently,” Oikawa grumbles. “Which means: me. I'm doing a cover on Ushiwaka.” He groans, slumping against his seat.

Yes, it's been a decade.

Yes, Oikawa is that petty.

It's not that he can't do it; he absolutely can. Marketing is a field that requires endless civility—Oikawa can manage that, even against his own high school rival. But he just... really, really doesn't want to. He's still just a tiny bit bitter.

“This is the worst day of my life,” Oikawa whines, overdramatic.

He expects a quip from Iwaizumi, a _shut up, stop comparing yourself_ , or something else that's vaguely encouraging but in Iwaizumi's typical gruff and roundabout way of caring.

Instead, when Oikawa looks up, he finds Iwaizumi watching him, face blanched. “...Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi seems to shake himself from his temporary daze. “Sorry,” he manages.

“Something wrong?” Oikawa sits up and leans forward, resting his elbows on the table.

Iwaizumi shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says. And then: “Remeber when I got hurt last year?”

Oikawa feels himself tense. The memory alone is disconcerting, but the fact Iwaizumi is bringing it up is worrying. “Yes,” he answers, simple, because he doesn't know what else to say.

“You told me no work while I was recovering. That was the rule,” Iwaizumi says. He reaches across the table for Oikawa's hand. “So how about no work while we're on vacation, either?”

Relief floods Oikawa. He lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. “Iwa-chan! You were so serious—I thought you were going to tell me something bad had happened.”

Iwaizumi blinks at him, and then smiles apologetically. “Didn't mean to. So, no work? No Ushiwaka?”

“Okay,” Oikawa agrees, and, as proof, puts his phone at the edge of the table. “No work. Just me and Iwa-chan.”

“You're going to knock that on the floor and then cry when it gets cracked,” Iwaizumi deadpans.

And he's absolutely fucking right, so Oikawa shoves his phone back in his pocket instead.

It stays there, over the course of dinner, and Ushiwaka is forgotten in favor of teasing Iwaizumi. After dinner, they head for the bonfire on the beach.

Oikawa falls in love, all over again, with the warm firelight dancing across the planes of Iwaizumi's face. They don't let go of each other for the entire night, all comfort and warmth. Iwaizumi brushes kisses over Oikawa's knuckles, keeps his focus on _right here, right now, with me_. He forgets his worries, forgets the odd reaction of Iwaizumi's earlier.

Even so, Oikawa feels, just a little bit, like he's missed something.

 

They spend the last day of their vacation in the cheesiest way possible. They woke up in each others' arms, lazed in bed until their stomachs demanded they go get breakfast (which, really, was more like an early lunch), and spent the day just—together.

Now is no different: on the beach, waiting to watch the sunset. It's not for another hour or so, but Oikawa doesn't mind waiting for it. Iwaizumi is laying down, head resting in Oikawa's lap, eyes closed against the warm sunlight, and Oikawa thinks that he might miss the sunset altogether because what could be more beautiful than Iwaizumi?

Oikawa runs his fingers through Iwaizumi's hair, scratching lightly at his scalp.

Iwaizumi hums, content. And then: “You better not get sand in my hair.”

“I'm being nice,” Oikawa retorts. His voice comes out fond and soft instead of snarky, and he can't find it in himself to be annoyed about that fact. “Stop complaining.”

“'M not complaining,” Iwaizumi mumbles, and turns his head to get more comfortable.

They stay like that for a few minutes. Oikawa marvels at how he got this lucky, to fall in love with his best friend, to still have Iwaizumi with him. He blames the burn behind his eyelids on the sun shining down on them, not on the fact he's getting choked up over just the thought of Iwaizumi loving him this much.

“Hey...” Oikawa manages, and then has to clear his throat to be able to speak through the emotion choking him. “Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi hums, but doesn't otherwise acknowledge him. It's okay; Oikawa knows he's listening. He always does, even when he doesn't want Oikawa to know he's paying attention.

“Thank you.”

“What for?” Iwaizumi murmurs. He seems like he's close to falling asleep, but his voice is clear, unhindered by drowsiness.

“For taking me on vacation,” Oikawa says.

 _For everything_ , he doesn't say.

“I needed a break,” Oikawa continues, still running his fingers through Iwaizumi's hair. “You always know exactly how to take care of me.”

Iwaizumi's eyes crack open, peering up at Oikawa. “Of course I do.”

Iwaizumi sits up then, facing Oikawa, and pulls Oikawa's hands into his. “I'm glad you enjoyed it,” he says. He pauses, blushes, and adds, “It's not over quite yet.”

There's a moment of hesitation, of expectation. Oikawa waits for Iwaizumi to continue, and Iwaizumi waits for—something. Courage, perhaps.

Instead, when the silence is broken, it's not either of them that speaks.

“Oikawa! Iwaizumi!”

Followed by an angry hiss, “ _Bokuto!”_

Bokuto skids to a stop in front of them, kicking up sand. He's holding a volleyball. He immediately has Oikawa's attention.

“Up for a game?” Bokuto asks. “Two-on-two?”

Over his shoulder, Akaashi sends them an endlessly apologetic look.

Oikawa looks over at Iwaizumi plaintively, but the expression on Iwaizumi's face—just a little bit too sad, rather than mildly annoyed, at the interruption—makes him pause. “Hajime, did you want to say something?”

Iwaizumi breathes out, slow. “No, it's okay.” He musters a smile, and Oikawa can tell at least some part of it is genuinely happy, even if it's not entirely so. “You miss it, right?”

Oikawa nods, slowly, still wary.

But then Iwaizumi stands, picking himself up off the sand, and reaches a hand out to help Oikawa up. His grin is hungry. “Let's go show them what we're made of.”

Oikawa's own grin takes over, and he lets Iwaizumi pull him up. Bokuto cheers as they approach. It's good to be back, in this respect. It's not that Iwaizumi has ever left Oikawa's side; it's only that the thrill of Iwaizumi's trust on the court is still one of Oikawa's favorite feelings. In this, they're both relentless.

 

These are the moments that Oikawa doesn't notice.

There are others, too, scattered throughout the week:

One of them was their first morning at the hotel. Oikawa looked beautiful, worry to the shadows as the sunlight spilled across his sleeping face. Oikawa looked beautiful, and still, Iwaizumi was a coward, just like the night before, and countless times before that. The ring in his pocket was beginning to wear a hole through his jacket.

Another was sometime during the week, when they'd gone into town. They'd gotten ice cream, because Oikawa had wanted some, and because Iwaizumi is weak to Oikawa. They were sitting together. Oikawa, at some point, had fallen into the habit of judging the people who walked by outside, and was continually sharing his observations with Iwaizumi. It was a sweet moment, casual, _them_. But there was nothing outstanding about it; Oikawa deserved extraordinary. Not now, then. The moment would come. Hopefully.

The most recent was their first won game against Akaashi and Bokuto. Old habits die hard, and the moment the winning point had touched the ground, Oikawa had raised his hand for a fist bump. Something in the moment had filled Iwaizumi with such intense nostalgia, that part of him had wondered why he'd never proposed before, back when they were fresh out of school and so, so in love. As if he hadn't known Oikawa was the one back then any less than now; Oikawa's always been the one. But then Bokuto called for them to try switching teammates, and Iwaizumi missed his chance.

So these are the things Oikawa Tooru—observant, shrewd, relentless Oikawa Tooru—doesn't notice. Oikawa, who picks up on everything about everyone; Oikawa, who knows the minute difference between Iwaizumi's teasing and his frustration; Oikawa, who can name a hundred constellations easily. Oikawa Tooru, who doesn't realize Iwaizumi has been trying to propose for the past week and failing miserably because of a mixture of his own cowardice and other inconveniences.

Right, maybe Iwaizumi gives him too much credit.

Love is blind, after all. That holds true for both of them.

 

Iwaizumi freezes, right before they get to the cab. The driver has already opened in the car door for them, and now he's leaning impatiently against the hood while he waits. Everything is already packed, and they're ready to leave, but Iwaizumi just drops the bags on the ground.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa starts, but hesitates at the look on Iwaizumi's face. It's something angry and sad and loving all at once.

Worry pings through Oikawa's chest. “Hajime?”

“I—” Iwaizumi says, stilted. “I've been trying to do this all week, and it never went right. Don't know why I expected any better. But—I'm not going to let myself chicken out this time.”

Suddenly, Iwaizumi is kneeling in front of Oikawa. There had been people passing by, entering and leaving the hotel, and now everything's stopped. Oikawa's not sure if it's the people that have stopped around them to watch or if its the world entirely. Oikawa's stopped breathing.

Iwaizumi draws Oikawa's hands into his, and some sort of vulnerability flashes in his gaze. “I'm—I'm not good with words, and I never have been, but I love you, and I know you love me, and I don't think we need any reason other than that. So, Oikawa Tooru, will you marry me?”

“Oh,” Oikawa breathes out, and then he's crying, because of course he is. “Yes—Hajime—yes, oh—”

Oikawa chokes on a sob as he pulls Iwaizumi up to him. The kiss Oikawa drags him into is messy and uncoordinated and reminiscent of a kiss from their first two months of dating, but it's perfect.

“Oh my God,” Iwaizumi manages against his lips. “Hold on, Tooru—the ring—”

“I don't need a damn ring,” Oikawa says between kisses pressed against Iwaziumi's cheek, nose, the corner of his mouth. “Just you.”

Iwaizumi nudges Oikawa off just enough that he can reach into his jacket pocket to pull out a small box. “You'd never let me live it down if I didn't get you a ring,” he says, but he's grinning all the while.

Tooru sniffles wetly. “Iwa-chan knows me too well.”

“Now you can finally show something off to your mom so she stops pestering you about getting married,” Iwaizumi says.

Oikawa laughs. It bubbles from his chest, loud and gleeful.

Iwaizumi opens the box and pulls out a silver ring. He draws Oikawa's left hand close and slips the band on his finger—simple, a single square-cut diamond set in the center of the band, a perfect fit.

“God, I love you,” Oikawa chokes out. “I love you, Hajime.”

Iwaizumi's gaze lingers on the ring on Oikawa's hand, and then he draws Oikawa's hand up to his lips, brushing a kiss across Oikawa's knuckles. His response is whispered against Oikawa's skin. “I love you too, Tooru.”

Oikawa draws Iwaizumi in close again, pulling him up gently until their lips meet.

“Come on,” Iwaizumi says eventually. “The cab's still waiting.”

Oikawa pouts at him, sneaking in another kiss. “That's not my fault.”

Iwaizumi threads his fingers together with Oikawa's. “Let's go home. You have a wedding to plan.”

Oikawa feels his heart stutter in his chest, and Iwaizumi's smile is fond and overwhelming and oh, God, Oikawa's going to cry again—

“Yeah,” he breathes out. “Let's go home.”

 

 

**+1. the betting one aka the side-by-side one**

When Oikawa was 12, he already had his dream wedding completed planned.

When Oikawa was 12, halfway through his excited explanation of said wedding, completed with a doodle on a scrap of notebook paper of the alien cake he was going to have, he asked Iwaizumi if he'd decided on anything about his future wedding.

When Oikawa was 12, starry-eyed and innocent (as much as a middle schooler can be), his best friend replied to him with a shrug.

“I don't know,” Iwaizumi had said, almost like he was brushing Oikawa off. “But I want Godzilla on my cake.” And then, after a resolute pause: “And you have to be there.”

When Oikawa was 12, he made a promise: “Of course I will, Iwa-chan!”

When Oikawa is 29, he makes good on that promise.

Over the past 17 years, some things have changed from Oikawa's 12 year-old wedding dreams. One thing hasn't, and even if it took them a while to figure things out, Oikawa Tooru and Iwaizumi Hajime are still standing side-by-side.

Well, metaphorically. For now.

“Jesus Christ, you look stunning.”

Oikawa glances over himself in the mirror again, gaze flicking over the suit that probably cost way too much. He turns to pout at Hanamaki and Suga standing in the doorway. “I always look stunning, you ass.”

“Ooh, he's nervous,” Hanamaki says. He shares a glance with Suga—far, far too knowing. They're a terrifying duo, and Oikawa has significant regrets about letting the two most sly people he knows become friends.

Suga coos at him, a soft sound that is probably supposed to be reassuring, and maybe would be if Oikawa wasn't terrified of whatever the two of them are planning.

“Don't be nervous,” Hanamaki says.

Suga drifts closer, coming over to brush off imaginary dust from Oikawa's shoulders and pat down the lapels of his suit jacket. “It's just Iwaizumi,” he says. “Nothing to be scared of.”

“I'm not scared,” Oikawa snaps. “I'm just—”

“Anxious?” Hanamaki supplies.

“Apprehensive?” Suga adds.

“Trepidatious?”

“Oh, that's a good one.”

“Thank you.”

“Oh my God,” Oikawa groans. “Shut up.”

Suga beams up at him, all sweet and motherly and probably evil under the saccharine smile.

“It's just such a rare thing to see. Oikawa Tooru, out of his element,” Hanamaki drawls. “I have to take advantage while I can.”

Oikawa glares at him, unimpressed.

Suga breaks, then, giggling. “We're sorry, Oikawa—”

“—He doesn't speak for me—”

“—We just wanted to give you a taste of your own medicine,” Suga finishes. He pats at Oikawa's shoulders. “You'll be fine.”

“By the end of today, all the girls in a fifty mile radius will be weeping because the most wanted bachelor around is off the market,” Hanamaki says. He sighs. “It's almost sad.”

“It's not sad,” Suga protests, turning. “I think it's sweet.”

“That's because you and Daichi have been on each other since high school, too,” Hanamaki huffs.

Oikawa quirks an eyebrow at him. “And you and Matsun haven't? Don't think I didn't know you two fucked in the club room.”

Hanamaki's mouth drops open, and his cheeks color. “That—that was just—”

Suga props his hands on his hips. “If you say you've just been fooling around with Matsun for the past eleven years, I will make it my personal goal to document every sappy, romantic moment you've had with him and potentially will have over the next, oh, I don't know... I'm guessing forty years that you two will be together?”

Okay, so maybe it's not the worst that Oikawa's two most devious friends are now friends.

Hanamaki hesitates, looking uncertain. Suga turns back to Oikawa, apparently nice enough to let Hanamaki recover. “You should get going. Iwaizumi's waiting for you.”

“Shit,” Oikawa says, and hurries to get back Hanamaki, still frozen in the doorway.

Hanamaki's hand reaches out to catch Oikawa's arm as he passes. “Hey,” he says, soft suddenly. “Iwaizumi loves you. Don't worry about the rest. It's already perfect.” Oikawa turns, mildly impressed at Hanamaki's sincerity. Then, with his usual flair of snark: “And remember not to cry. You'll mess up your makeup.”

Oikawa makes a face at him, no longer impressed, and turns to go. Over his shoulder, he hears Suga scold, “Makki! You can't rig the b...”

Oikawa is definitely not nervous, so he definitely doesn't pause outside the door leading to the ceremony. He definitely doesn't take a second to collect himself, silently willing himself to not cry the minute he sees Iwaizumi. He definitely, _definitely_ , does not nearly burst into tears just standing in front of a closed door like an idiot over the single fact that _they made it this far_.

After everything, they made it here.

Oikawa pushes the doors open.

Immediately, he's wrapped in a tight hug, family members crowding around him. There's a waiting room designed for organizing the procession before joining the actual ceremony, and Oikawa finds himself surrounded by not only by his family, but also Iwaizumi's—which is... well, he supposes they're his family now, too.

In a way, they always have been.

Finally, a hush falls over the room, the doors open, and it begins.

There's flower girls—extended family of Iwaizumi's—and Takeru is carrying the rings, and other participants and fanfare. Oikawa almost wonders why he'd wanted all this grandeur in the first place, but then, as he alone steps up to walk down the aisle, he remembers.

The view is one he hopes he'll never forget: family and friends lined up along the aisle, smiling at him, until, at the end, waiting for him, is Iwaizumi.

There's something surreal—but, no, that's not quite right—as Oikawa walks towards Iwaizumi.

It's not surreal. It's ethereal. He's walking through air that's not of this world, carried by love and friendship and family that is a feeling far beyond anything on earth.

Oikawa reaches for Iwaizumi the minute he's close enough. Iwaizumi takes his hands as Oikawa steps into place next to him. They're supposed to turn to the officiator now, but instead they stay facing each other.

Oikawa feels stunned, winded. The breath's been knocked out of him at the sight of Iwaizumi. He looks good, because of course he does, especially dressed in a suit and fits him perfectly. But there's—the look on his face, awed and reverent and vulnerable—has Oikawa unable to turn away. He's beautiful. Oikawa loves him so, so much.

“You're—” Iwaizumi chokes out, and then seems to give up. Instead, he brings one of Oikawa's hands up to his lips and brushes a kiss over Oikawa's knuckles, just as soft and adoring at the expression that's turning his gaze soft and tilting his lips up into an endless smile.

“We are gathered here to witness the matrimonial union of Oikawa Tooru and Iwaizumi Hajime. Please join me in celebrating their commitment as we begin the ceremony with a quote chosen by one of the grooms.”

Iwaizumi, seemingly reluctantly, turns towards the officiator. Oikawa follows suit, but he keeps one hand in Iwaizumi's, their fingers threaded together.

The officiator reads:

 

“ _If you could see your whole life from start to finish, would you change things?”_

 

Out of the corner of his eye, Oikawa sees Iwaizumi's brow furrow. Iwaizumi had left essentially all planning up to Oikawa—he'd known since they were kids that Oikawa always had plans, and Iwaizumi... Well, Iwaizumi only ever wanted Oikawa to be there.

But that means: Iwaizumi has left it up to Oikawa's impeccable (questionable) taste to decide everything that happens over the next few hours. Of course, he'd enlisted friends—Suga's been especially helpful—but this reading in particular was Oikawa's decision. Iwaizumi may or may not murder him over it.

 

_“Maybe I'd say what I feel more often. I don't know. You know, I've had my head tilted up to the stars for as long as I can remember. You know what surprised me the most?_

_It wasn't meeting them.”_

 

Realization passes over Iwaizumi's face.

 

“ _It was meeting you._ ”

 

Iwaizumi glances at Oikawa, incredulous. _Really?_ he mouths, turning just enough so that Oikawa can read his lips. Oikawa tries to keep from smiling, fails, and keeps his gaze resolutely forward.

Oikawa feels Iwaizumi's hand twitch in his own, and another sideways glance reveals Iwaizumi is biting his lip, trying to hold in laughter, as the officiator continues to address the congregation.

Iwaizumi sobers as the officiator moves onto the vows.

They turn back to face each other.

Oikawa eyes meet Iwaizumi's, and, if the reality of this moment hadn't already hit him, it certainly does now. The absolute and irrefutable affection in Iwaizumi's gaze has overwhelmed tears burning at the corners of Oikawa's eyes.

He's—he's not going to cry at his wedding. He is not.

“Hajime,” Oikawa says, voice thick against his tongue. He feels powerful, words laced with meaning. As he speaks, it is so. Such is love. “You are so, so much more than my fiance. You're my best friend. You're my partner in everything we do together. We've grow up together—grown together, and I could ask for no better person to have by my side for the rest of my life.

“You're the foundation that keeps me steady. You're the star that guides me home. I can't—” Oikawa swallows. “I can't imagine a day without you in it.”

Iwaizumi watches him, entirely unguarded. It's the same look he has when he watches Oikawa do dumb shit while he's cooking and Iwaizumi thinks Oikawa isn't paying any attention to him. It's the same look he has as he's just waking up on a lazy Sunday morning, roused by Oikawa's soft kisses against his jaw. It's the same look he has when he threatens Oikawa for being a brat, after the faux anger shifts to something unrepentantly fond.

Oikawa puts his hand over his own chest. “You made a home here. Since we were kids, you've been leaving pieces of you in my heart. I'm not me without you. I...” Oikawa pauses, recalling a childhood memory he'd definitely prefer to _not_ be imprinted on his mind. “Everything reminds me of you, of how much you love me. Even June bugs.”

Iwaizumi makes a soft noise, like he was trying to scoff at Oikawa but the emotion in his chest drowned it.

“You've helped me become who I am today, and—I'm proud of who that is, as long as you're a part of it. And—there's no place I'd rather be than next to you. I love you so much. Hajime, will you take me to me your husband?”

Iwaizumi swallows hard. When he speaks, his voice comes out rough, hoarse with feeling, and his lip trembles slightly as the words falls past them, “I will.”

The attention in the room shifts from Oikawa to Iwaizumi, and there's a weighted pause, anticipation rising against Oikawa's nape.

Iwaizumi clears his throat.

“When... When you said you wanted us to write our vows,” Iwaizumi starts, voice low. “I was terrified. I couldn't—I couldn't think of what to say. And then when you told me to write in something about June bugs, I was even more lost. You're kind of infuriating like that sometimes—you get something in your head and charge forward with it, and sometimes it's a struggle to keep up.

“And then I realized... Even as impossible, as ridiculous as you can be—like, really, Tooru, _Arrival_?—even as much as you get under my skin... All of that: it's why I love you.”

Iwaizumi pauses to breathe deep, and Oikawa is stunned into quiet awe, watching him.

“You're a dork, and you love aliens, and nothing makes me happier than watching you get excited about going to watch a new sci-fy movie. You're the most passionate, driven man I've ever met, and you keep me going. There's so many times I'd thought about giving up, and then I'd see you, see how hard you tried at literally anything to committed to, and it just—you give me hope, Tooru. Every day.

“As long as you'll have me, I want to be with you. Forever, if I can. I love you more than anything, even... Even if you never do the dishes.”

Oikawa feels like he's been tricked; his body emits a laugh, surprised and pleased, even while the weight of emotion, of love, pushes deep into his skin and keeps him still. The giggle slips out of his mouth breathlessly, and Oikawa has to press his lips together to stop it, because otherwise he'd just keep going, breathless and happy and drowning in a sea of _Hajime, Hajime, Hajime_.

Iwaizumi smiles at him, and when he inhales, it's shaken, air shuddering through him.

“Tooru, will you take me to be your husband?”

Oikawa opens his mouth to reply, another another choked noise slips unbidden from his tongue before the words can manage to form. Iwaizumi already knows the answer, of course he does, and still, it's a whispered prayer: “Yes, I will.”

“The grooms will now exchange rings,” the officiator announces.

Takeru approaches, two golden bands resting on the cushion he brings them. Oikawa picks up Iwaizumi's ring with gentle, trembling fingers. It's such a simple thing, after the power of their words and the atmosphere around them, surrounded by loved ones. Yet, the second Iwaizumi's hand brushes against Oikawa's, the touch sends a jolt through him, livewire and eternal.

“Let these rings be a symbol of your union. May they remind you of the love you share, even when distance or time separates you. May they remind your of your vows taken on this day: to support each other, to love each other, and to never leave each other.”

Oikawa fits the ring onto Iwaizumi's finger. Iwaizumi, in turn, fits his onto Oikawa's. And now, after this, they can't let go. Their fingers brush against each other, refusing to lose contact, even for a moment.

“You may kiss,” says the officiator.

In a heartbeat, Oikawa is in Iwaizumi's arms. It begins as something simple, with Oikawa's hands slipped over Iwaizumi's shoulders while Iwaizumi holds onto his waist, and their lips meet, laced with this new sense of meaning, of commitment, of promise. And then, Iwaizumi's grip on Oikawa's waist shifts, and suddenly Iwaizumi is dipping him, still pressing his lips to Oikawa's as he carries the weight of Oikawa's upper body in what has to be one of the sappiest, cheesiest display of romance Oikawa has ever gotten out of him.

Oikawa is smiling into the kiss, turning it messy and uncoordinated, and he's so close to laughing just because he doesn't know what to do with the happiness bubbling in his chest, and then he feels something against his cheeks.

Oikawa's eyes flutter open. Iwaizumi is crying.

Oikawa breathes out some word against Iwaizumi's lips, but for the life of him, he wouldn't be able to tell what that word is. One hand slips from where he's holding onto Iwaizumi's shoulders in favor of pressing his palm against the curve of Iwaizumi's cheek, thumb sweeping over the wet tracks on Iwaizumi's cheekbone.

“I love—you,” Iwaizumi manages, between pressing their lips together. “God—Tooru—I—”

He breaks off then, and buries his face in Oikawa's neck as he pulls them both up. It's just the two of them, Iwaizumi held in the circle of Oikawa's arms, and then, suddenly, they're not alone.

First it's Hanamaki, letting out a cheer as he crowds forward and wraps them both in a hug. Matsukawa is next, draping himself over Iwaizumi's back and helping Hanamaki to essentially squish Oikawa and Iwaizumi between them.

Then Daichi, and Suga, and Takeru, and Iwaizumi's dad, reaching around everyone to squeeze Oikawa's shoulder.

It's while they're all tangled together, a mess of laughter and limbs, that Oikawa hears Daichi hiss at Hanamaki and Suga: “ _Pay up, losers._ ”

Oikawa may or may not at some point try to strangle Hanamaki for instigating a bet on whether or not Oikawa would bawl in the middle of the ceremony.

 

Later, after the hugs and the joy and the wonder of it all, Oikawa and Iwaizumi lead the way to the reception venue. Iwaizumi's gaze sweeps over the room, hand warm against Oikawa's, and then he must see it, where it waits on the banquet table, confectionery maw open in a roar.

“You—” Iwaizumi manages. “You—fucking nerd—” He squeezes Oikawa's hand in his.

Oikawa interprets that as _I love you_.

There's a fresh wave of tears slipping down Iwaizumi's cheeks. Oikawa draws Iwaizumi close, kisses the wetness from his cheekbones, whispers adoration against his lips.

Iwaizumi only ever wanted Oikawa to be there. And a Godzilla cake.

Today, he has both.

 

**Author's Note:**

> check out [Jed's art for this fic!!!](http://itsmyfridge.tumblr.com/post/180954817597/go-on-your-date-live-your-life-without-me-then) It's so soft and gorgeous and I'm in love uwu
> 
> arrival is a fuckin phenomenal movie. go watch it.


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